Don't take that to mean I don't still love the place, because I do. It's just that since a recent makeover, it's way more than a cafe. You got your coffee shop still, but you also have an art gallery and a place for exercising your film making proclivities.
And that's just the inside of the building. There's camping, and even a little bit of a funky trailer trash vibe happening on the grounds (a little bird told me that the campsite is just awesome for threesomes).
All that aside, no sooner had I obtained my Sexspresso house grande with half and half and opened my paper to the racing form than I heard a familiar female voice saying, "No, I am most certainly not paying for these! Beat it!"
It was Bel, who, along with her partner, Lew, owns the place.
The guy she was talking to was obviously a salesman. No offense to anyone who is in sales, but it's guys like him who give you all a bad name. His mullet was straight out of the NHL, 1985. His mustache, out of a 70's low-budget porn (take it from me, I know). He had what must have been three packs of Bubble Yum working in his jaw. Either that, or a massively abscessed molar.
"Come on, Bel! It's the holidays!"
I am a naturally curious guy. I had to see what all the fuss was about. When I did, I nearly spewed coffee all over the place.
"Paul," she calmly intoned. "Your coffee is getting cold. I can handle this."
And handle it she did! She repeated her intention: the cup sleeves were to leave on the same train they came in on, minus whatever money the doofus in the cheap suit claimed he was owed. I watched as he packed up his bags and shuffled off the premises. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!" she growled.
Honestly, I think she was embarrassed that I saw these sleeves. Were they a joke, ordered up by Lew? It was clear to me that she had about as much of a clue as I did.
"Nice picture!" I said after a sip of Sexspresso house grind.
"Fellas love the boots," she quipped.
"I see you have them on now. How about you let me snap a few, put them on the blog, and we'll see how your theory holds up?"
"You're on!"
We hastened to the second floor photo backdrop. "Bra and panties!" I demanded. "Boots stay!"
"Of course," she purred.
Sales guy must have forgotten something (besides his manners) and trotted back in. "Does Lew know what you are up to with Paul?" he asked, the very voice of morality.
"Fuck in my place and then have the balls to call me out on my behavior?" she roared, stomping off of the pose stand.
"Fellas love the boots!" I repeated.
"He will, up his ass!"
After she had brushed the "asshole debris" from her delightful lace ups, we got down to the fun of taking a handful of pics. Time was limited but I did manage to talk her out of her bra and panties (had to really twist her arm, cough cough), though the boots stayed on.
Don't settle for some grainy, two color image on a paper coffee cup sleeve! Head over to Sexspresso and spend some time with Bel yourself!
No comments:
Post a Comment